Stop This Madness

"Er," you start, unsure if this was just an elaborate prank. Those, earnest, innocent eyes however, tells you that this is for real. You sigh.

"No," you say firmly. "Pineapple doesn't belong on a pizza."

Marisa seems to shrink slightly, looking at her lap, visibly wilting at your words.

"Alright, let's go for a pepperoni..."

You agree to this readily and call over a waiter to take your order of a pepperoni pizza for two, fizzy drinks to wash it down with, and some chocolate eclairs for dessert.

The fun, giggly atmosphere seems to have evaporated entirely. Kicking yourself for not letting Marisa have her way, you desperately search for any kind of conversation to save your pizza date.

As it happens, Marisa makes the first move. You feel something pull your chair towards her. Trapped against the table, you feel something press against your crotch.

"Fine," she said, finally meeting your gaze with eyes that could kill. You can't help but squirm a little as she grinds her heel against your mound for emphasis.

"If you're taking charge of what happens on the table, I'm taking control of what goes on under it..."